


Only Two Things

by spoonishLord



Category: American Horror Story: Murder House, Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Blood, Death, Fluff, Hell Fucking (That's the ship name guys), I also wrote this on my flip phone so I apologise for any errors I missed, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Once again I'm going to hell, Shameless 'Freeze your brain' refrences, This is what happens if I have sweets at two in the morning, gay shit, sugar? I guess?, this is so short why can I not write anything longer than like three paragraphs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoonishLord/pseuds/spoonishLord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tate honestly thinks he could only ever taste two things and be perfectly happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Two Things

Tate honestly thinks he could only ever taste two things and be perfectly happy. 

Sugar is one of them, for when he’s got JD tied up in a way that makes him pant and whine to be touched, to be fucked, beg for it in such a delicious way, collar around his neck and ribbons binding his hands to the headboard- almost wrapped up like a present. Or a dessert. 

It’s for when he kissed him hard and messy and painful, sucking the sweet taste that’s just entirely unique to JD from his lips and teeth and tongue, swallowing every syrup-drenched mean from his mouth like it’s candy, sweeter than anything else, reveling in how Jason kisses him back as if Tate’s one of those absurd slushies he insists on sucking down constantly. 

Blood is the other, from when the begging and whimpering from whatever pathetic excuse for a human he’s killing stops and it starts screaming, from the way crimson drips out of ragged rips in flesh, down off limp fingertips and onto the cold concrete floor. 

From when he licks the red off the silver of his knife and kisses him with someone’s blood on his tongue, for the way the sweetness of JD’s mouth bleeds into the metallic tang until it’s a taste that’s unspeakably exquisite, for the way bloods looks smeared across his pink lips and too-pale face and streaked in his black hair. 

For the way he moans like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, ever asked for, when Tate breaks and pushes him on the floor- right next to the broken corpse of their victim- and bends him over, takes him as loudly and as violently as possible until the smell of gore and sex in the air is so thick you can taste it. Just the way they both like it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally all I've been able to write lately. Enjoy...?


End file.
